


So Long And Good Night

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hellhounds, M/M, The Colt (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-30
Updated: 2008-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are more hellhounds than Sam has bullets, and the goofer dust is long gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Long And Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> The rating on this fic is related directly to the warning - it has no sexual content.

There are more hellhounds than Sam has bullets, and the goofer dust is long gone. Dean's time is up as of ten minutes ago; he's backed into a corner, Sam boxing him in, refusing to leave him unprotected. Sam can't see the hounds, but he can hear Dean's rapid breathing behind him and he knows they must be close. There's a thick line of salt in front of them, but that won't hold for long.

Sam wipes nervous sweat off his face and tries to think. He's done everything he could possibly think of: tried every ritual, tortured dozens of demons for answers, read so many books his eyes are permanently burning, and Dean is still going to hell. It's still come down to this. There's nowhere else he can look, no time to try anything even if he did. There's just him, Dean and a locked door between them and Dean's date with Lucifer.

Sam turns away from the door and puts his free hand on his brother's face, tracing the line of his cheekbone. Dean stares at him with wide eyes, clutching Sam's shirt in a death grip, and doesn't even flinch.

"I'm sorry," Sam says fiercely, thumb trailing down over nose and mouth, pressing in slightly and moving on before Dean can do more than blink. "I'm so sorry. I failed you, Dean. I tried everything, I swear to God, everything I could—"

He stops when Dean puts a hand over his mouth.

"Don't fuckin' apologise to me." Dean's voice is shaky, but he meets Sam's eyes steadily through unshed tears. "I did this for you, Sammy. Don't tell me you're sorry because you couldn't undo it. Way I see it, I still win."

"You call this _winning_?" Sam takes Dean's hand and grips it hard, fighting back the hot rush in the back of his throat. "I can't do this. You're going to hell, Dean. I can't just stand by and _watch_ —"

"You _can_ ," Dean hisses. "You have to. That was the deal. You can't stop it, and you can't come after me. You try to get me out of this, you will die, Sam. Even after I'm ... gone."

Sam doesn't really care about living or dying anymore, but he can't tell Dean that.

He drops his head to Dean's right shoulder, brings his other hand up to rest on the left, still holding the Colt ready in case the hounds break through. They've got minutes, maybe seconds left. Dean's hands slide over his neck and his fingers lace together there, keeping Sam close. Sam turns his head into Dean's neck and tries to breathe deep. There's something he's just thought of, one last thing he can try; it's not what he wants, but it's better than what Dean's facing. Either way—

"I love you," he says, a huff of breath, and now Dean does flinch.

"Sammy," he whispers. Just that, and a barely-there kiss dropped against Sam's hair, but it's enough.

Sam kisses him back, lips pressed to the vein in Dean's neck, and then he steps back and raises the gun.

Dean's eyes are wide again, but it only takes a second before they're on the same page. He smiles, bright and open and beautiful, and spreads his arms wide.

"Always knew you were a clever fucker, Sam," he says. "Take care of my baby, okay?"

Sam grins back and cocks the hammer.

The Colt can kill anything. And when it kills, it kills _everything_. The hellhounds can't take Dean's soul to hell if there's no soul left to find.

— _bang_ —

— _bang_ —

END


End file.
